Putting Aside Old Lives
by Rowen-bsg
Summary: Jeffrey Sinclair on Minbar.This is set immediately after the third season episode Severed Dreams.
1. Chapter 1

**Putting Aside Old Lives**

by Ruth Owen

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_Disclaimer: Babylon 5 belongs to JMS et al._

I would like to thank Kathleen once again for beta reading and her wonderful comments. I am truly grateful.

This is set immediately after the third season episode "Severed Dreams."

_Extra note: This story was written somewhere between 1993 and 1997. I'm currently in the process of uploading some of my old fanfiction to the archive._

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The resounding clang of pike against pike echoed through the large room accompanied by grunts of exertion. Twenty pairs of combatants faced one another as widely spaced as the confines of the room would allow. A number of instructors watched the training session in progress, correcting the angles of thrusts or stance; demonstrating a parry or attack posture. Overseeing all of this, drifting ghost-like up and down the sidelines was the tall figure of Entil'Zha.

Ranger One. The enigmatic man cast brown eyes over each pair in turn, noting strengths and weaknesses, missing nothing. This particular group of Ranger trainees contained the usual mixed-bag of professions and personalities that had drifted to Minbar - either responding to the mysterious 'urge' to come here that many seemed to be struck with, or hearing about the group from others. They were only three or so months into their training, but already Ranger One could ascertain the strengths and weaknesses of each candidate. Many came thinking they would just be learning how to fight. But what he taught, with the help of instructors, was not simply fighting, or survival skills. It was a way of life; a way of thinking, of feeling, of being. The trainees learnt pleasure and delight; beauty and laughter. How to move, how to breathe. Fear and terror - how to survive it, and how to inflict it. Which brought him full circle back to the current object of his scrutiny. He watched as the slender human male of twenty-five flailed angrily with his weapon at his cool Minbari opponent.

"Hold," Jeffrey Sinclair instructed quietly after a particularly violent swing of the pike. His voice was not loud, but carried with the tone of authority.

The blows were halted in mid-air and the combatants parted, breathing heavily with exertion.

"Matt." Sinclair crooked a finger to gesture the man closer.

The man bowed respectfully. "Entil'Zha."

"Walk with me. Kashonn, excuse us for a few minutes."

"Of course Entil'Zha," the Worker Caste Minbari agreed readily.

Sinclair inclined his head respectfully then strode on silent feet to the least populated section of the room near the windows.

Entil'Zha. Despite being referred to as such everyday, he still wasn't completely used to it. Nor the respect and devotion with which people treated him. Sometimes it almost scared him.

Reluctantly the young man followed the taller figure of Entil'Zha, his eyes fixed on the deep brown cloak covering the man's broad shoulders. He knew what was coming.

Entil'Zha seated himself on a window ledge, looking out the large opening into the park lands surrounding the building. The breeze through the open casement was fresh, carrying the scent of sea spray, forests and the undeniable fragrance of spring. The carved crystal of the ancient buildings nearby diffracted and diffused the light of the afternoon sun and somehow seemed to add a warm background hum to the air.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Sinclair asked, tilting his head and smiling as the sound of children reciting chants floated up to their level high above the city. His face was unguarded, and he actually seemed to radiate that inner peace he was always talking about.

Matt raised an eyebrow almost sullenly at Entil'Zha but was otherwise unresponsive. They both knew what was coming. Why didn't Sinclair just get to the point and put him out of his misery?

"Have you been to the Botanical Gardens yet?" Sinclair continued, ignoring the trainee's tension.

"No, Entil'Zha. I am not here to play tourist." The tone was insolent - sounding for all the world like a young man with a large chip on his shoulder. But there was more at work here than simply the hubris of youth.

"Then why are you here?" Ranger One turned back, his eyes piercing, yet veiled with mystery.

"I..." The young man's bravado faltered for an instant and he felt as if the older man was somehow looking into his soul. It was... unnerving, to say the least. "I felt I had to come. To learn to fight the Shadows."

"Learning to fight does not preclude the appreciation of beauty." At the young man's unsure look, Sinclair continued: "Darkness is coming, Matthew. But there is still beauty," - he gestured out the window - "still happiness. Still love." He regarded Matthew for a moment. "Would you like to talk about her?"

Matthew started visibly: how the hell had Entil'Zha known? Warm eyes stared back at him, inviting confidence but not pushing.

"Jenny." The name burst from his lips unbidden - it was almost a relief to speak it after weeks of silent worry. "We were in the 'Free Mars' movement together when..." His eyes met Sinclair's; pleading. "I just felt I had to be here. I could never explain that to her. She thought I was stupid; childish - deserting the cause to run off and join some shadowy organization no one had heard about instead of continuing the fight back home." He wrapped his arms across his chest, still holding the extended pike. "We... we didn't part on the best of terms. And now... Now..."

Sinclair nodded compassionately. One of ISN's last broadcasts had announced Mars was being bombed, before President Clark's troops had moved in on the broadcast center and taken the station off the air. The first of the lessons in 'terror' for this particular group of candidates had been a few days after that, and it was not surprising that it had amplified Matthew's worries on this problem. The Minbari used a drug induced trance state as part of the training, to learn about oneself. For before you could fight an enemy, you had to understand what drove you. Your passions... your fears. The trance forced the candidate to confront fears and learn to accept and thus conquer them. It was not a process that could be undertaken lightly nor without proper preparation. Indeed, the use of the ceremony was only sanctioned once the training period was well underway and only when a mentor was present as a guide - to teach them to understand and withstand the fears. Matthew had not yet been able to resolve what he had seen within his soul with the task he had committed himself to.

"I should have stayed," Matthew muttered, fingering the seams of his fighting pike, and refusing to look at Entil'Zha. When there was no response for a while, he glanced back up.

Sinclair's face showed no reaction: he offered none of the reassurance or sympathies that the young man expected, and for some reason it made Matthew angry.

"Well?" he challenged. "What do you think I should have done?"

"The past is past, Matthew. You cannot live forever in the shadow of 'what if.' We can only act as we must and learn to live with the choices we have made."

This was supposed to make him feel better? A fking platitude? He did not realize he had said the last phrase out loud until he saw Sinclair's face crease into a smile, which only served to make him angrier. He'd just poured his soul out to the guy and the bastard thought it was funny? He retracted his pike and stowed it beneath his cloak, all too aware if he kept the weapon in his hands he might do something he would regret later. Temper had always been one of his worst faults and the months he had spent here in training with the Minbari had not appreciably lessened that tendency.

Sinclair seemed to have that ability to read people's minds and rose from the ledge, his cloak falling into soft swirls about his calves. "Well?" he raised an eyebrow, crossing his hands comfortably over his chest in a silent but obvious challenge. So sure of himself.

Why the smug...

Rational thought departed in a haze of anger fueled by worry, and the young trainee lashed out with his fist.

It did not connect. Faster than he could ever have expected, Sinclair side-stepped the swipe and caught his arm before he could recover, pulling him into a very firm body lock from behind. Struggle as he might, Matthew could not free himself from the Ranger's grip - superior height, strength and positioning pinning him in place. Accepting defeat, he allowed his muscles to relax.

'Real smart, Matt,' he berated himself, already feeling the beginnings of shame at his loss of control. Why couldn't he learn to control his damned temper?. Sinclair loosened his grip slightly, but did not let go.

"This is one of the reasons you need to learn to let go," the Ranger said softly near his ear. "You are going to be walking in places where others fear to tread. Your past can become a weapon by which an enemy destroys you; as can your faults. You must learn to accept yourself by understanding yourself. Accept what has gone before as being unchangeable and work towards doing better in future." His point made, Sinclair released Matt, then sat back on the window seat as if nothing had happened. Flushing, Matt cast a look around, but everyone had ignored the little scene and were concentrating on their own battles. Feeling the other man's eyes on him, he turned back.

Sinclair's expression showed no recrimination, no censure for what had just happened, instead he looked thoughtful.

"Perhaps..." he began, rubbing his thumb absently over the scar on his cheek. "Direct communication with the Earth system is blocked at the moment, but I do have friends on Babylon 5 who could perhaps get an inquiry though." He held up his hand in warning. "There are no guarantees, you understand."

Matt's eyes shown with hope, mixed with confusion. "You could do that, Entil'Zha?"

"I'll see what I can do." Sinclair rose and clasped the young man's shoulder, guiding him back through the ranks of dueling trainees. He hid a smile: the kid looked like he didn't know which way to turn. "In the meantime, I think you should go back to practicing your footwork. You're leaving yourself wide open when you perform the frarsh attack. There is a trick..."

The room suddenly fell silent as all sounds of practice ceased and the trainees turned as one to look at something. Sinclair spun cat-like on his feet, seeking the source of the disruption. The movement flowed with preternatural grace, the cape swirling about him as he automatically crouched in a fighting stance - weight on the balls of his feet, limbs relaxed. His eyes locked on the figure that had just entered and the slight tension drained from his posture.

It was not all that unusual for various high-ranking members of the Religious and Worker Castes to enter the hall to observe the progress of the Rangers-in-training. A few Minbari whom he had guessed to be Satai came here, though usually dressed anonymously in ordinary robes. Even Neroon had put in an appearance a few times, standing at the back of the hall with a typical Warrior Caste scowl on his face as he observed the classes. Sinclair always wondered whether that scrutiny was actually directed at the trainees or at himself.

But this person was different. He wore the cowled grey robe of the Council but had the hood thrown back, his face visible for all to see in open disregard for a thousand years of tradition. The faces of the Satai were not known outside the Council ship. It had always been thus, granting the rulers a remoteness and mystique in the eyes of the average Minbari.

Sinclair strode past the stunned ranks of trainees, who were bowing deferentially. He knew this person as one of Delenn's oldest and closest friends. Someone who had been instrumental in the revival of the Ranger corps, persuading and smoothing the way with the other Minbari. His rank and position had never been mentioned between them, yet Sinclair had guessed him to be one of the Nine: the quiet air of authority was unmistakable. Delenn had that very same quality.

"Satai Rathenn." Sinclair bowed slightly, Minbari fashion, as he came face to face with the Minbari. Up close it was blatantly obvious that Rathenn was rattled and that sent a jolt of uneasiness through him which he concealed behind a Minbari-perfect mask of politeness. "Would you care to come to my office?"

Rathenn agreed wordlessly, following Sinclair along the short corridor to the spacious room that had originally been set aside as the Earth Alliance chancery on Minbar. While it was still officially designated as such on all reports generated for EarthGov, on Minbar it was more commonly referred to as Ranger One's office.

In front of the terminal on the desk, the human Ranger who was currently acting as Sinclair's aide looked up in surprise - he had not been expecting Entil'Zha back from the training session so soon. The man's eyes widened as he recognized Rathenn's robe and stood, bowing as he did so. Sinclair inclined his head slightly, signaling dismissal and watched the man leave the room. A few months after his appointment as Ambassador to Minbar, the Senate had insisted he have diplomatic aides to assist him with his work. That was the official line, but any idiot could read 'spies' into that. Loyal EarthGov employees who would eagerly report back that their new Ambassador was just a bit too cozy with the natives. However the Minbari only granted access to their homeworld to a select few and had summarily rejected all the names that Earth Dome had proposed. The delay had given Sinclair time to locate suitable candidates amongst the humans drifting in daily who felt that they had been somehow 'drawn' to the place. The background and occupations of these seekers was widely varied, and a number of the choices had been acceptable to both Earth and Minbar. These days the Ranger aides actually did the majority of the diplomatic duties and report writing, leaving Sinclair free to concentrate on other more vital tasks.

Rathenn seated himself in a comfortable chair at Sinclair's gesture, and stared off into space in a distracted and unfocussed manner as Sinclair prepared tea for them both.

"The Grey Council has been dissolved," Rathenn uttered finally, his voice quiet.

Sinclair froze in the act of sitting, dark eyes widening in surprise. He knew there had been trouble, and Rathenn had obviously been deeply disturbed by it, but this?

"How?" He forced himself to finish the movement, sinking down into the soft cushions as he set his cup on the table before him.

"Delenn." Rathenn's eyes met his. "As was prophesied, that which Valen made has been broken. The darkness we knew was coming will shortly be upon us all."

"The Warrior Caste?" There were many different levels to that question, and Rathenn inclined his head fractionally in acknowledgment. From what Sinclair had observed in the last eighteen months it seemed unlikely that the Warrior Caste would follow - the rift between them and the Religious Caste was too wide.

"As you would expect. The Religious and the Worker Caste are following Delenn's lead and without their support, the Warrior Caste cannot rule on their own. The Council was already unbalanced; this... event was bound to happen sooner or later."

Sinclair knew the Satai who had replaced Delenn on the Council had been of the Warrior Caste - an unprecedented move, in direct contradiction to the covenant the Minbari had made with Valen a thousand years before. But regardless of whether this break up of the Council had been foretold, it would still hit the Minbari hard. They were now bereft of their ruling body as they plunged headlong into the fires of war. The rigid customs and traditions of the society would carry them for a while, but to be without leaders at such a time would be perilous. What had prompted her to enact such a desperate gamble?

"Delenn?" There was a wealth of questions in that single word.

"She is the only one who can lead now." Rathenn seemed to notice the tea on the low table in front of him for the first time, and sipped appreciatively. The Minbari had taken to Earth teas in a big way and importation of the dried leaves was netting the few licensed traders a small fortune.

"As she said," Rathenn continued, "she has been warning the Council that this day was coming for three years. They would not listen. Those of us who did believe feared to break the consensus. Since the war..." He trailed off, but Sinclair understood the unspoken thought. The Council had gone mad with the death of their leader. They had been divided; the war had drawn them together in an all-encompassing madness. But afterwards...

Control was of paramount importance to Minbari; it helped them define who they were. The Satai's had desperately tried to avoid a repeat of their shame at their loss of control by withdrawing; pretending harmony so that the ordinary Minbari would not perceive that their ruling body had had its faith in itself shaken.

"Now there is only Delenn," Rathenn stated, setting his cup back down. "I think she alone would have the support to lead, despite what many feel about her change. But she has returned to Babylon 5 to assist with their fight."

Sinclair raised his eyebrows - a human expression the Minbari had learned to interpret as surprise.

"My apologies - you could not know." The former Satai extracted a data crystal from within his robes and handed it to the man. "Delenn took three of our War Cruisers back with her to aid in the defense of Babylon 5."

Sinclair looked at the crystal. "President Clark tried to seize control," he surmised and Rathenn nodded. It was not unexpected. In his last message, Garibaldi had said they were more or less expecting it after Captain Sheridan declared that the order for the Nightwatch to take control of the station was illegal, not having come through the proper chain of command. Sheridan could be a canny bastard when he chose, Ranger One decided as he rose from the easy chair and headed towards the wall viewer, sliding the crystal into the unit.

"Captain Sheridan thought you should be made aware of the current situation and sent this record of the battle with a Ranger courier," Rathenn explained as the picture materialized.

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	2. Chapter 2

//May I have your attention, please.//

John Sheridan stood on the Babylon 5 command deck, hands clasped behind his back - his words obviously being broadcast throughout the station. Sinclair backed up a step, found the edge of his desk and sat, never taking his eyes from the screen. The hero of the Earth-Minbari war looked older than when Jeffrey had last seen him during the Mars food riots. Stress, pressure and the added responsibilities were all taking their toll, as evidenced by the fatigue in his face.

//In the last few hours we have learned that warships are coming this way from Earth. Their orders are to seize control of Babylon 5 by force.//

Warships. So it had finally come to that. If Sheridan defied the orders it would be civil war. If not, he and the other senior officers would be arrested and subjected to a general court-martial, still achieving the ends the opposing force desired. Taking control of a space station was not all they were doing - by capturing the bastion of Light, they would consign the rest of the galaxy to the mercies of the Shadows.

//As commanding officer and military governor of Babylon 5 I cannot allow this to happen. President Clark has violated the Earth Alliance constitution: by dissolving the senate; declaring martial law and personally ordering the bombing of civilian targets on the Mars Colony. He is personally responsible for the deaths of hundreds of innocent people.//

A chill passed through the usually inscrutable Range One, prickling his skin with gooseflesh. He remembered the domes of Mars from when he was a boy; the almost fragile barriers that made habitation of the frigid, dusty world possible. In his mind's eye he could imagine the places he had grown up destroyed; the domes shattered like eggshells, spilling their contents into the deadly surroundings; people screaming, trying to squeeze into the deep shelters as the outrushing wind literally tore the air from their lungs and their exposed skin was frozen by the extreme cold. He could still picture the aftermath of the disaster of '29 that ISN had covered with chilling thoroughness when Atlantis Dome at Syria Planar had failed catastrophically. The images broadcast had been graphic in the extreme and had given the young Jeff and his brother nightmares for years about their own home dome cracking.

//Following these attacks, Orion 7 and Proxima 3 have broken away from the Earth Alliance and declared independence. Babylon 5 now joins with them. As of this moment, Babylon 5 is seceding from the Earth Alliance. We will remain an independent state until President Clark is removed from office.//

'Stirring speech,' Sinclair thought somewhat cynically, raising an eyebrow eloquently as he listened to Sheridan's declaration. Brave words and sentiments for a task which was virtually impossible. Almost as impossible as the Phoenix - an Earth Alliance frigate - destroying a Minbari War Cruiser.

But the difference in this case was that Proxima and Orion had planetary resources and enough ships of their own that they could conceivably hold off an attack by forces loyal to Clark. Babylon 5 was more or less on its own. Not to mention a hell of a lot closer to Earth. Certainly it had its defense grid and squadrons of starfuries, but what match would those be for destroyers?

//At the end of this current crisis, anyone who wishes to leave for Earth is free to do so. Meanwhile, for your own safety, I urge everyone to remain in your quarters until this is over. Thank you.//

The picture shifted to display the exterior of the station through securebot monitors. Two heavy cruisers floated in parking orbits near the station, one with heavy carbon-scoring consistent with a recent fire fight. Sinclair tilted his head, studying the image: the two destroyers must have been part of the force that had sided with

General Hague. From the camera angle, it was impossible to make out the registries, but this one picture made it clearer than anything Sinclair had yet seen or heard exactly what they were facing. This was civil war. Colleague against colleague; friend against friend. And there would be no winners in this conflict except the Shadows, who benefited from the internal dissension and strife.

In the background, the chatter in C&C continued uninterrupted and Jeffrey could hear Ivanova requesting permission to go out with the starfury squadrons. He felt his stomach tighten feeling somewhat helpless. Intellectually he knew that everything he was seeing had already happened, but he still felt himself reacting as if it were occurring in real time. He flicked his eyes toward Rathenn who was still seated, also watching the report. The Satai had probably received his own reports on the situation from Delenn already, and for a moment Sinclair was tempted to ask the outcome. Patience, he told himself, forcing himself to simply watch the events as they unfolded. The defenders of Babylon 5 had lived through this - asking the result would be the easy way out.

//Jump gate on line.//

The voice was familiar, and the face of a nervous young man in C&C sprang to mind, but Sinclair could not recall the officer's name. The camera angle shifted to show two destroyers and assorted support ships exiting the jumpgate.

//This is Captain Dexter Smith of the Earth Alliance destroyer Agrippa to Babylon 5 and renegade ships. You are ordered to surrender your ships and prepare to be boarded.//

Another camera switch back to the 'resistance' ships, and Sinclair could now see that one of them was the Alexander - Hague's ship herself. By now, Hague had been definitely identified as one of the instigators of this rebellion. The attack on the Alexander and her companion ships at the transfer point near Io had been short but vicious, with a number of 'loyal' Alliance ships disabled. That humiliation would make the attackers all the more desperate to cripple or destroy her. As the name of the other ship became visible, he felt another pang of recognition and clenched his fists. The Churchill. Sandra Hiroshi's command.

Sandra was another one of the survivors from the Line. One of the few left. Sinclair stared out the window, but did not see the clouds dotting the sky. Instead there was a dark sky-field surrounding him as he sat strapped into his starfury, helplessly watching the enormous ships bearing down on him. Knowing that no matter what they did here, it wouldn't be worth a damn: the ships were just too powerful. Then all around him ships exploding... each ship one of theirs... so many exploding stars...

//This is Captain Sheridan of Babylon 5. You are executing an illegal order in violation of the Earth Alliance constitution. These orders have forced us to declare independence in order to ensure the safety of this station. We don't want a fight, but if you attempt to carry out these orders we will defend ourselves.//

The Agrippa and the Roanoke had separated a bit to maximize their potential firepower. It was a standard technique Earth Alliance officers were taught during training. Underneath, in the background, he could hear Sheridan muttering:

//Come on, Captain, you must see these orders are wrong. Leave while you still can.//

He won't do that, Captain, Sinclair thought, rubbing at his forehead. He is as convinced that he's on the 'right' side as you are. The Ranger sensed more than saw Rathenn move up beside him, then a sympathetic hand was placed on his shoulder. Both of them knew that from the moment those cruisers had come through the gate it had been inevitable; that there had been no possibility of retreat. For either side.

//They've broken contact,// the officer with the familiar voice reported. Memory kicked in and associated a name with the face. Corwin: that was his name. Quiet kid who did his job. //Enemy starfuries moving in on attack vector. Orders?//

//Babylon Control to all starfury squadrons. Standby to attack. But do not, I repeat, do not initiate combat: let them fire first. We won't start this fight, but by God we'll finish it.//

The two forces of starfuries closed in on one another, indistinguishable. EarthForce against EarthForce. If the station had not been in the background, Sinclair knew he would not have been able to tell which side was which. He also knew once the fighting began the pilots themselves would have that same problem. It was so easy to get turned around during battle, and with the opponent's ships looking just like yours it was even harder than usual. Who were you supposed to be protecting and who were you supposed to be killing? Unconsciously, his hands gripped his knees, his knuckles whitening as he watched the tableau unfold.

//Enemy forces closing, entering firing range,// Corwin announced, only the barest hint of a tremor in his voice.

'Not enemies, kid,' Sinclair railed silently. They all wear the same uniform; they're all from the same place; they're all sworn to uphold the same ideals; they... The thought trailed off as he realized the precise implications. They. When exactly had he stopped thinking of himself as being part of the Earth Alliance? Was it when he had first donned the mantle of Entil'Zha at Rathenn's urging, with Delenn's backing? Or had it been before that: when he was abruptly forced from command of Babylon 5 and thrust into an unwanted Ambassadorial position where Earth Dome thought they could keep him out of sight and mind, yet still placate the powerful Minbari Federation?

He looked down at the rack on his desk; at the crystal sitting there, as he heard Sheridan ordering the blast doors closed and the defense grid to be activated. The crystal contained his recall orders to Earth, received just before everything started going to hell.

//Don't be a fool, Smith. You've got to see these are illegal orders. Don't make me do this.//

He had planned on ignoring the orders; pretending they had never arrived if questioned on it. After all, with all the strife it was not inconceivable that something as insignificant as a recall order would go astray. But he had expected a period of grace; had not expected the situation to escalate as quickly as it had into full-scale civil war. There was no going back now. He could no longer even hold on to the pretense of being Earth's Ambassador to Minbar. Earth Dome's intentions of keeping him out of the way had backfired. He was no

longer Jeffrey Sinclair, citizen of the Earth Alliance. He was Entil'Zha.

//Enemy fighters have locked on. Firing.//

The Earth Alliance destroyers began firing on one another and from the corner of his eye Sinclair could see the sympathetic expression on Rathenn's face

//Alpha squad, form up on my wing. Delta squad, punch us a hole through there.// Ivanova. From the response of the squadrons to her commands Jeffrey could even pick out which individual starfury she was piloting. He was pretty sure that this was her first full-scale combat situation: she'd been too young for the last war, but this was something she had trained for her whole adult life.

The small ships zipped and darted past one another, firing. Bright blossoms of flame marked fallen comrades on both sides. An incoming piece of debris headed directly towards the camera and there was a brief flash as it was destroyed and the perspective of the battle changed to another unit.

//Enemy fighters coming from the sides, trying to outflank us.//

//Reset forward interceptors for long range dispersion fire.//

Sheridan sounded cool and in command of the situation. The perfect commander. Santiago had been more cunning than his detractors had given him credit for when he had selected Sheridan to be the default replacement commander. The captain was lucky he looked so good on paper - the perfect officer. Off paper, however, it was clear Sheridan cared about what was right, not just following orders. Luckily for all of them no one had bothered to look beyond the record to see the real man.

//Ready.//

//Fire.// A steady stream of fire headed toward the incoming starfuries.

//Maintain approach.//

Ivanova again. Sinclair appreciated the fact whoever had compiled this report had blended the separate command channels, which allowed him to follow several parts of the battle simultaneously.

The Alexander took a significant hit, then accelerated toward the opposing forces. Cries from the command deck of the station made it clear they were not escaping unscathed either. Sinclair took a deep breath, trying to remind himself he was only listening to a recording of the battle; everything had already happened, and the outcome could not be changed.

//We've got a breaching pod coming in.//

Standard tactics: send in GROPOS to seize control of the command center and lower defenses. At that point the rebels would have no choice but to surrender the station.

//Where's it going?//

//Hull area. Brown 95.//

//Garibaldi.//

//Yeah, I heard. I'm in the area - we're on our way. Move, move: we gotta cut them off before they hit open ground. Let's go!//

Sinclair steepled his fingers against his lips. The last communique from Garibaldi had indicated that due to taking all the Nightwatch members off duty, security was seriously undermanned and they were relying on Narns for support. Mixing ground forces whose training differed radically for the first time in an actual combat situation was a disaster waiting to happen... He sat forward as a feed from one of the internal security cameras was inserted into the record. Michael was visible, dressed in black riot gear, as he ordered his forces into position, holding at an easily defensible juncture. Sinclair cursed in unison with his old friend as the Narns disregarded the orders to hold position and charged on obliviously, forcing Garibaldi to order an unnecessary advance. They charged on, rounding a corner and...

'Damnit,' Sinclair cursed silently, as the feed switched to externals again just as the breaching pod locked on. Watch yourself, Michael.

//Three enemy furies locking on.// Sinclair was impressed with how young Corwin seemed to be holding up in what was probably his first battle experience. He had the makings of a good officer there, assuming he survived the impending stupidity. Sheridan warned the crew to hang on as the defense grid fired - early enough to destroy the furies, but too late to avoid the incoming debris scatter.

Alarms blazed out, and the feed from C&C showed a smoky room with sparking panels as people scrambled to put out fires with hand-held units. Sheridan picked himself up off the deck, blood dripping freely from a head wound as he punched up readings on the main console.

//Give me a targeting solution on the Roanoke and standby to redirect all defensive fire.//

The slight hesitation in the captain's voice was obvious to Sinclair. Prior to this, the station had only fired defensively and at the one-person starfuries. Targeting the cruiser meant crossing that line and actively taking the fight to the opponent. The station's weapons did not have the pin-point accuracy that the starfuries maneuverability gave them. Shooting merely to disable the large ships was virtually impossible and Sheridan knew, as did Sinclair, exactly how many people were on a destroyer.

The furies continued passing rapidly, and more damaged hulks could be seen drifting aimlessly in space - some with lifepods clearly ejected, others merely piles of twisted debris bearing scant resemblance to the fighter craft they had once been.

//Coming around for another run.// Ivanova and her squadron wheeled.

//Commander, the Churchill,// the voice of an unknown pilot cut in.

Sinclair swallowed convulsively as the picture zoomed in on the burning hulk of the Churchill and felt dry eyes beginning to burn.

//Hiroshi, get out of there! Get to the lifepods!// Sinclair guessed the voice belonged to a ranking officer on the Alexander; desperation and helplessness warring in the tone. It was too late, and both of them knew it.

//Too late to get out.// Hiroshi's voice crackled, as communications began to fail. //Our primary systems are hit and we've got fire on all decks. There's nothing we can do except...//

Sinclair could see exactly what she was planning to do with her final breaths and averted his eyes as the dying Churchill lumbered forward on an unstoppable collision course with one of the attacking cruisers. Jeff could not bring himself to watch the inevitable fiery end to a brave woman's life. Beside him, Rathenn murmured a phrase in Adronato; a benediction to fallen heroes.

//Hiroshi?! Hiroshi!!//

The pain in the other man's voice echoed the pain tearing at Sinclair's heart, as he too lowered his head, hand on chest, and uttered a brief prayer for his friend's soul. God, what a waste war was. He had always wanted to be a man of peace - going so far as to live in a monastery for a few years after the Earth-Minbari war, until he had been dragged back by EarthForce to take charge of Babylon 5. But circumstances were conspiring against him once more. And the battles in this particular war had only just begun.

Sinclair was torn from his reflection by a sharp order from Sheridan:

//Ivanova, eject!//

//I can handle it.//

//Eject, dammit, eject!//

He could not tell whether a life-pod had jettisoned, but a split second later there was an explosion as an anonymous starfury splattered against the remaining heavy cruiser.

Oh God, not Ivanova too!

The Alexander fired on the Roanoke even as the station's defense battery lashed out in a withering stream of destruction. There was no way the already battle-weary cruiser could survive such an onslaught. The smaller ships continued to whirl and dart through the melee, adding their weaponry to the kaleidoscope of explosions.

//Babylon Control to Roanoke Your ship is out of control. Surrender and let us take on prisoners... We promise safe passage...// The desperation not to needlessly waste more lives echoed vibrantly through Sheridan's plea, but it was too late - the Roanoke disintegrating into a fiery wreck.

Sinclair swallowed, feeling the battle energy drain from him as if he had actually been there. Sheridan had managed to hold the station together this time, but at what cost? The Churchill and crew and God only knew how many starfuries. What would happen next time? Even Sheridan's reported tactical genius could not prevail when Earth sent more ships.

//Damage report.//

//Damage to all sectors. There's still fighting going on in Brown sector.//

Sinclair rubbed at his forehead, wishing the monitors in brown sector near the fighting had not been fragged. The uncertainty about his friends' fates - both Garibaldi and Ivanova - was gnawing away at him.

Sheridan had ordered more troops into the area and was asking about hull integrity.

//Not good,// Corwin responded. //EVA teams on route. Good thing it stopped when it did - we couldn't take much more.//

A monitor started to beep, and the Ranger tensed at the sound, snapping his head back up. Even though it had been eighteen months since he had been there, he immediately recognized the alert for the jumpgate sequence being activated. Corwin's 'oh no' coincided with Sinclair's first view of another group of Earth Alliance destroyers bearing down on the station. So Clark had not underestimated the potential threat of the rebels after all.

//This is Captain Drake to Babylon 5. You are ordered to surrender and prepare to be boarded by order of President Clark.//

Drake - he had been one of Clark's men even when the man had been vice president. While Sinclair had never met Drake personally, he had heard all the rumors...

There was a pause; absolute silence on all the open channels as the defenders awaited Sheridan's next order: to fight on or to surrender. The answer was obvious. As Military Governor of Babylon 5 Sheridan's first priority had to be the innocent civilians in his care. There was no choice in the matter.

//Captain, jump points forming on top of us.// Corwin's voice shook.

//How many?// The tone was weary and full of defeat: they had done their best, but were simply out-gunned. The Captain was mentally preparing himself for what had to follow - his surrender.

//Four.//

The camera of the securebot just happened to be pointing in the right direction and Jeff could instantly see what Sheridan could not and felt a wave of relief. The ships emerging from the jump points were Minbari Cruisers. So that's what Rathenn had meant. Three of the large, powerful and deadly ships that both he and Sheridan had learned to hate during the war, and the smaller profile of the White Star prototype; all of them placing themselves between the station and the on-coming Earth Alliance destroyers.

Delenn's face appeared on the monitor, transmitting to all parties. Gone was the gentleness that had marked her countenance since her change: her face declared she was Minbari and a force to be reckoned with. And considering the fact she was backed by three very large, very powerful ships, even Drake would pay attention.

//This is Ambassador Delenn of the Minbari. Babylon 5 is under our protection. Withdraw... or be destroyed.//

//Negative, we have authority here.// Drake was trying to bluster his way through. //Do not force us to engage your ships.//

'Don't be stupid, Drake,' Sinclair thought. Despite Earth Alliance propaganda to the contrary, and the mouthings of that idiot Senator Quantrell, Minbari ships could still wipe the floor with the best Earth had to offer. Delenn's tone was properly scornful:

//Why not? Only one human captain has survived battle with a Minbari fleet.// Sinclair almost smiled as she rubbed the fact in Drake's face. //He is behind me. You are in front of me. If you value your lives, be somewhere else.//

Even without recognizing the words of the challenge, Sinclair would have known she was translating from the Minbari simply by the cadences. The more subtle shadings of the ritual phrase would be missed by the human captain, but the threat was still obvious. With only minimal time for discussion, the ships turned tail and fled through the jumpgate.

Jeffrey Sinclair allowed the smile that he had held back at Delenn's words to show. He was glad he had not been in Drake's shoes - especially when the man had to report the incident back to Earth Dome. Delenn had been completely Minbari in her attitude and totally magnificent.

Dimly, he heard Sheridan ordering all ships to return to base, as his mind replayed those final scenes over. It had been close. Too damn close And not just for this battle, but for the larger ones with the Shadows looming on the horizon. Babylon 5 was going to serve as the obvious rallying point for ships in the upcoming war - a beacon against the dark. Had the minions of the Shadows attempted to precipitate the situation on Earth simply as a means of destroying a potential enemy, or was it part of their general strategy of dissension and strife?

The screen flickered as the battle overview came to an end, and a familiar face appeared. Jeff breathed a small sigh of relief as Garibaldi grinned at the camera. He was out of uniform, looking tired as he leaned back on his couch with one of his legs propped up on cushions.

"Hey, Jeff." He nodded at the screen. "Thought you'd like to see what went on here. Sheridan's busy coordinating things at the moment. Ivanova's a little banged up, but still able to blister people's ear-drums up in C&C. As the Doc has ordered me off my feet for the next twenty four," he waved at his leg, "I'm playing messenger boy.

We're currently doing repairs, but we're more or less holding together. The Alexander jumped early this morning, gone to try and hook up with some of the other ships that defected." His friend's face grew more serious, and Sinclair could feel the sympathy in the other man's gaze. "I'm sorry about Sandra - I know she was a friend of yours from the Line. You also have no way of knowing, but Hague was killed in a fire-fight near Proxima. Major Ryan's in

command of the ship."

Garibaldi drew his hand back over his close-cropped scalp. "Ryan's a good man, I guess, but I don't think he can fill Hague's shoes in running the resistance. Already, everyone's looking to Sheridan.

"The Minbari are still patrolling, so I think we'll be safe enough for a while from external threats. I don't think Clark would be dumb enough to risk it just yet." Michael loosed a chuckle, his eyes dancing. "Damnit, but I never thought I'd actually be happy to see Minbari cruisers again."

Safe from external threats, but Sinclair noted Michael had left unspoken the likelihood of sabotage from agents that must still be hidden on the station. Nightwatch infiltration of Babylon 5 had been very thorough.

"Watch yourself, Jeff. I'm sure you're safe enough on Minbar, but if you leave you'll be as much a target as the rest of us. I've heard rumblings along the grapevine that Earth Dome is just a bit unhappy with you at the moment for going 'native.' They seem to think that the opinions of your old pal Ari Ben Zayne have been proven - that you're a certified alien lover. And as you might have guessed already, back on Earth 'alien lover' is about the worst thing you can accuse people of these days. If I were you, I'd ignore any recall orders that might get passed your way."

"Already done, Michael," Sinclair murmured.

Garibaldi smiled once more, raising his hand in a gesture of farewell.

"Take care, old friend."

The message ended and the crystal was ejected automatically from the reader, but sat unnoticed in the slot.

Sinclair reached up and snapped off the Earth Alliance badge on his chest - the last visible sign that identified him as being the Alliance's designated representative on Minbar. The rest of his apparel was Minbari in style - the traditional garb that proclaimed him to be Entil'Zha. He turned the stylized "EA" over in his hands, running his fingers over the lettering and remembering the pride he had felt when he had first pinned it on. No more. With a brief sigh of regret, he laid it on his desk and looked up to find Rathenn watching him; silent and compassionate.

"It is time to put aside old lives, old ways of thinking," the former Commander intoned softly. He tilted his head slightly, considering the words and smiled briefly. "You know your Valen was a very wise person - I think I would have liked to meet him."

Rathenn's smile reminded him eerily of Delenn - Delenn before her change - when you knew she knew more than she was telling but didn't know what.

"Well, it is prophesied that Valen will return one day," the Satai said obliquely. "Perhaps you will." He extended his hands in the sign of triluminary and bowed. As he left, that strange smile was still in place.

---------------

End


End file.
